Schwarz Moments, the English version
by Nariel
Summary: Take a look into the lives of Schwarz, their significant days and moments, which changed their lifes... updated chapter 2, Schuldig.
1. Chapter 1

Schwarz Moments, the English version

Title: Advent of the darkness

Rating: T

Author: Nariel 

Disclaimer: They're mine, all mine! My preciousssss... /coughs embarassedly/ eh-he... of course not.

Summary: Crawford's first meeting with Nagi and the beginning of his vendetta against SZ, set about 5-6 years before the events in the Anime.

Warning: un-beta-ed, yet.

A/N: Translation of my latest German fic. 'Tis but a brief glimpse into the beginnings of the team Schwarz... translated on demand of... okay, under the threat of Alexstarr's whip /whimpers/. ;-P Just kidding, lol. Second part might be added, but since it isn't written yet even in German... We'll see, we'll see.

* * *

---Kyushu, Japan---- 

It was raining cats and dogs as the black Mercedes raced along a highway, its driver seemingly unaware of speed limits. Brad Crawford really had other things in mind than paying attention to road signs. It might have deemed insignificant to an outsider that Brad's eyes were narrowed with pure hatred and blinked more often than usual; or the fact that his hands clasped the steering wheel so tightly the skin around his knuckles has turned white.

For Brad Crawford's standards this state represented a hysterical nervous breakdown.

Everything had begun with a vision - he had seen his death. Now, this happened often enough. And this time the solution to the avoidance of this event was crystal clear. All he had to do was NOT to storm heedlessly into the office of his superiors, with a drawn gun and screaming for revenge. _Oh please_, he had thought, _as if I'd ever do shit like that. I'm not stupid, after all._ He did not want to be shot down by bodyguards either, the way his vision had shown him with complete certainty.

It was curiosity which made him hesitate behind the closed door, after the meeting was over. What could drive him, Brad Crawford, to such an action as the one he'd seen?

So he had listened to the voices of the three Elders of SZ ...

"Does young Crawford have suspicions? "

"No. But it's better this way. Lest he might react ... emotionally ."

"He wouldn't be the first. Also other pupils had tragic accidents which cost, regrettably, all their relatives their lives... " The sarcasm was flooding the room, seeping through the gap between door and ground.

"It never had to be like that. We had promised their son a bright future in which he would be able to use his abilities the best way ... for us ... They declined."

"Thus, they signed their death sentence. Astonishing, isn't it, what a small splash of oil on a highway may cause... "

_Accident. Accident my ass_...

Cold laughter rang from the room.

Brad had used up the biggest part of his willpower to break loose from the door and to walk to his car in calm, measured steps.

Now, as already told, his car raced along the highway and Brad suppressed constantly the urge to drive into a wall with 120 mph and to put it all to an end.

Did it have a sense to try to go against SZ? Alone, he would be helpless. Okay, maybe not helpless, but too ineffective to cause any real damage.

He took a deep breath, and decreased the speed. He left the highway and drove aimlessly through the streets. Plans whirled inside his head, a mess of jumbled ideas, however, one thing was clear to him: the way.

_One step after the other, Brad._

During that meeting he had been given permission to choose an elite team for an outside operation. Which meant an absolution, a proof of the trust the leaders put into him. A team of killers under his leadership, to ensure that chaos and fear would reign, for SZ's good alone. The most important part was that such teams sometimes worked for years without any instructions or controls on the part of SZ.

_Slowly, Bradley_, he admonished himself. _First: Slow down. Then: your team put together. And someday, SZ's doom. One step after the other._

It was good that he had throttled the speed. Thus, he saw a man sent flying out of a side street, like a petulant child's rag doll. Yep, flying.

Telekinesis, Brad knew immediately. One of his teachers in Rosenkreuz was one, who found great pleasure in demonstrating his ability to students. He remembered too clearly how the unlucky were thrown against walls, until they were reduced to a bloody pulp...

Crawford's car screeched to a halt. He took a moment relishing the sense of security from the revolver under his jacket, before stepping out in the humid night air. _Just how did I end up here_, he wondered. It was a slum, nothing more than desolate and rotten, run-down appartment blocks. He peeked around the corner, only to find that the "street" was, in fact, a mere niche between two houses, a tiny dead end. A whimpering small heap of misery lay at the back wall.

_A child_, Crawford saw, probably hardly ten years old, wrapped in some dirty rag leftovers. Surely it could never be claimed they were clothes.

And no one else far and wide, which led Crawford to an almost unbelievable conclusion.

_Might it be... the little one...!_

Now, there was a way to check this. Telekinetics possessed a reflex which would repel sudden projectiles. He threw a tiny pebble in the direction of the child -

The pebble got stuck in the air as if it had stuck to an invisible wall. It just kept hovering there, with no intention of falling down anytime soon.

It was insignificant, how it was possible that a child could have such powers. It was important that this child existed, and that it was not a brain-washed puppet of Rosenkreuz.

" Hey, kiddo ". A frightened look from dark eyes, mostly concealed beneath the shock of unkempt black hair, was the only answer. Crawford exceeded on convincing manipulation, yet he gravely lacked experience concerning friendly interaction with children.

No, his rhetorical skills would be of no use here, he decided.

Brad cautiously stepped closer, near enough to see that the child shook with cold as much as with fear. Then he stretched his hand out...

* * *

A/N: Death threats, praise or even Spam: I cherish every review I get. So: pretty please/tilts head and tries to look adorable/ 


	2. Saishuu Ressha

Saishuu Ressha

Author: Nariel

Rating: considers... mild R, because of Slash/Shonen-ai and severe bloodshed.

Settled during: Episode 25, Ende des Weiß

(A/N: The title is a reference to the song "Saishuu Ressha" (engl. the last train), performed by the J-Rock band MUCC. To be more precise, the 70's version, with dreamy violins, guitar, a quite special voice and a melody which engraved itself into my heart, even before I actually knew what it told. My Japanese consists only of a few words which I learned while watching Weiß Kreuz ...;-P)

To alexstarr and K-chan, my dear online chicas. Kisses!

_

* * *

_

Two households, both alike in dignity,

_In **modern Tokyo**, where we lay our scene…_

_("Romeo & Juliet", W. Shakespeare)

* * *

It was one of those moments when Schuldig longed for oblivion._

Yet a telepath forgets nothing, especially when desperately trying to.

The last two days had proved the longest of his life. A break between two worlds, two lives, between happiness and despair.

They had been damned from the very beginning.

The day before, when the first sunrays broke through the high windows of the penthouse they had rented, he hoped that time would stop, so that he could look at the image before him for an eternity – however, Schuldig wasn't looking at the sun, the thin veils of clouds or the rainbow born from floating droplets of mist.

The bed was a messy heap of sheets, covers and pillows, all bearing witness to the passion, which had burnt here all night. This feeling had not disappeared, it had become quieter, no less strong, but softer, affectionate and tender ... ineradicable – and it scared Schuldig to no end.

He wanted to run, yet it was as if some unknown power kept him seated at the bed's edge. So he found himself unable to tear his eyes away from the sleeping figure in all that white.

The sunlight accentuated the fair skin of a long-limbed, slender body, and lent a celestial, golden light to the dark-blond, shoulder-length hair, which looked prettily unusual on a Japanese.

The dark eyelashes twitched slightly on that lovely face, so peaceful in sleep. A smile, robbed of hard cynicism, played on those sweet lips – Schuldig could still feel their intoxicating touch on his skin ... whoops, that sigh might've been a little too loud.

"Schu ..." a drowsy voice muttered.

Schuldig knew that he would never feel the same warmth again which filled him at the sound of that beloved voice.

_Love_.

This feeling consuming them that morning so inescapably, so utterly, was love, but it was too late. _And I could never tell you ..._

Normally, they talked a lot, and their dialogue was like the elegant fencing of the French under King Louis: vicious, quick, teasing and challenging, but always with a wink of a mischievous eye. This time however, both were quiet as they dressed without even looking at each other, closed the curtains and left the key to the hotel room to the hotel clerk. Every action held something final – for this would be their last meeting.

Their hands only found each other during the brief drive to the station. Both held on, their touch not for the first time expressing what they didn't dare to say aloud: the wish to never let go.

Somehow Schuldig managed to keep the pain from his voice. "Stop thinking that, Youji, you have said so yourself. We can't stay out of it. Escape is impossible. Whether Kritiker or SZ, Weiß or Schwarz – they will find us. You aren't exactly easy to overlook, gorgeous."

"But ... IF we run… just consider the possibility for a moment… our teams' odds would be three against three. And this would be fair, wouldn't it?"

Schuldig laughed it off, with Masterminds iniquitous cold cackle of a laugh. "Come on, Kätzchen. Na... er, Prodigy alone could flatten you all with a snap of his little fingers. Quite literally, by the way. The only reason you are still alive, Weiß, is because you pose no threat to us. Claws, tiny poisoned darts and a rusty katana... don't make me laugh!" Okay, so Fujimiya's katana might always be razor-sharp and polished spotless, except when it was dripping with blood, but Schuldig was not in the mood to be fair. "Am I forgetting something? Oh right, your mighty dental floss."

"Dental floss?!" Youji snorted indignantly. "Excuse me, oh Mastermind, but this is the finest filament wire out there, enhanced with ultra-light plastic fibres! Dental floss, my very fuckable ass! Dental floss is seldom deadly, Schu-Schu."

"One moody kitty-cat, are we, Yotan?"

"Meow."

They grinned at each other, and for few precious minutes everything was forgotten: the soon separation, the seemingly inescapable demise and the upcoming, unavoidable life-or-death-fight between Weiß and Schwarz.

_Romeo and Julia, well I'll be damned._

For Youji Kudoh's second identity was Balinese of Weiß, one honourable, if only from their point of view, but undoubtedly excellent killer team.

Farfarello described the four as incorrigible idealists with no grasp on reality, and from the mouth of the fanatic madman that he was, it sure sounded extreme.

Nagi simply didn't give a damn about them.

Crawford merely said that they had much, MUCH more luck than any actual skill.

Schuldig was fascinated by them, it almost bordered on admiration. After all, in spite of an inclination to emotionalism, archaic equipment, codenames based on cat breeds and the habit to reject anything threatening to shake their precarious view of the world, not to mention the aprons they wore on their day job – the list goes on and on – Weiß was considered, and rightly so, to be the most successful and dangerous killers of Tokyo.

And their cover-up was brilliant, gritting their teeth, Schwarz had to admit it. They were running an unassuming little flower shop, which, in the afternoon, was overrun by the zealous hordes of infatuated schoolgirls. On the plus part though, it saved them any embarrassing questions by the police.

Who in his right mind would ever suspect four young florists!

"Why don't you see it, Youji? Abyssinian is being suicidal, the four of you cannot possibly overthrow SZ! " (So what if Schwarz were plotting the same, at least _they_ had been planning it for many years, and there was still the thing with their supernatural powers! Weiß were as normal… well, as killers could possibly be.)

"We are willing to try it. Besides, they are my friends, and I'd rather die with them, than to watch them walk in there alone!"

Their quarrel followed this pattern endlessly, until Schuldig and Youji gave it up. An air of quiet resignation engulfed them.

Youji's train was about to leave at any given moment, the doors shut with a hiss, yet it didn't keep their thoughts from flying back and forth through the glass.

,_Don't say it. Please, do not say it._'

,_You know it anyway, you have for a long time, Schu. What does it matter then?_' " I ..."

,_No! Youji, if ... if you say it, and mean it, which I will of course know, how do you expect me to be able to leave you ... no matter how much I have to... It is difficult enough as it is..._' Schuldig grinned weakly, but his mask was already torn beyond repair. It did not work any more. _Not with you…_

,_So you do feel something. As do I._ ' Green eyes smiled over the rim of the sunglasses, straight down to the bottom of Schuldig's fossilized believed heart. So much understanding and longing was in this one look, and it was a mirror of that strange feeling, this whirl in Schuldig's head which refused to expire, even long after the thundering of the departing Shinkansen had died away.

The sun, which had woken them up so affectionately, had not set yet when they saw each other again. This time however, they were enemies.

Weiß never stood a chance. But they succeeded in keeping Schwarz in the hall at the highest floor of the tower, and with each passing second the chance to escape from the crumbling building in the middle of sea became thinner and thinner. Stones were already falling down from the ceiling.

Nagi's telekinesis smashed Bombay against a column's top, high above. The youngest Weiß had not moved since his bone-splitting crash to the floor.

Farfarello walked leisurely around the fallen Siberian, picking the most painful place for a deathblow.

Crawford was nimbly avoiding Abyssinian's desperate sword strikes and even had time to mock him.

In the midst of all that carnage Schuldig stood still, eyes closed, Balinese – _Youji_ – close behind him.

The wire shot from its hiding place in the bulky wristwatch and firmly wrapped around Schuldig's neck.

"You tell me, Weiß", Schuldig spat in extra-loud disdain – a courageous attempt to protect Mastermind's image. It seemed to work, for the wire tightened, so that breathing fell even heavier. Hardly audible, he repeated Crawford's sneering question to Abyssinian. "What are you fighting for?"

Also Balinese's voice was not too steady in its show of righteous anger. "We don't want other people to lose their loved ones... the way we did."

_We_... Only these two knew that this last part was not referring to Weiß. Their faces were so close to each other that Schuldig could feel Youji's irregular breath on his cheek ... ,_It's better this way,_' his thoughts whispered to Balinese, '_Just do it. This had to happen eventually. Don't hesitate, or you might invoke suspicion... do it and save yourself_.'

,_And what if I can't live without you?_'

Schuldig froze. Whether it was shock, lack of oxygen or both, he did not know. _Did I really just hear that?_

Apparently yes, for the noose loosened, air was flowing into his lungs, and Youji withdrew. The wire was loose in his gloved hands.

"I can't do this," Balinese said, a bittersweet, gentle smile on the lips, and removed his sunglasses with a shake of the head. They shattered on the concrete with a faint clink and it felt loud and treacherous to them. Yet they failed to hear another crash that shook the entire tower. How much time had passed, as they simply stared at each other, unable to move, unwilling to fight? Minutes, seconds, or just a tiny moment? Nobody would know.

Tears glistened in Youji's green eyes. "I just can't… Schu…"

And then, all hell broke loose as the ground collapsed. Prodigy's powers kept Schwarz airborne, but would they suffice to carry them all the way to the shore?

Weiß fell into the depths. The telekinetic wave flung the unconscious Bombay through a broken-open gap in the wall far into the open sea. Siberian had exhaled his last breath even before the water engulfed him. Abyssinian's fall had been intercepted by a jagged piece of steel protruding from the broken wall it used to reinforce. Even in the throes of death, Aya Fujimiya still resembled a fallen angel, his dark wings raining blood. His last thoughts went out to his friends. He saw Youji, wire slung around Schuldig's neck, dangling on eye level with him. '_Oh Youji ... you fight till the end ..._'

_You have NO idea, Abyssinian,_ Schuldig thought cynically when he heard the dying thoughts of the detested leader of Weiß. _Oh-oh._

The more urgent problem was that Youji's whole weight hung now on the wire, which bit mercilessly into his neck. The first blood drops ran down the silvery gleaming line. Youji was aware of it as well.

A sparkle from the dying sun twinkled in the tear running down Youji's pale cheek. ,_We die together then, chéri?_' Schuldig wondered through the haze of his pain.

Only one thought came back,_No way_.' Then Youji's free hand went for his watch, ready to sever the wire. "Aishiteru." **Chink. **

Then Balinese followed his friends, yet Youji's heart remained with Schuldig, even when his body shattered far below, out of sight.

The needed air had never tasted bitterer to Schuldig, his damaged throat not even allowing him to scream out his grief. Only quiet tears fell from his face, distorted in despair, hidden beneath the long orange-red hair. Somewhere along the way, he lost consciousness.

Nagi's telekinesis carried them up to the sandbanks, then the boy broke down with exhaustion. Tattered and tired, Schwarz set their course to the airport and abroad, to get as far away as possible from the _crime scene_.

Schuldig woke on the back seat of Crawford's car, claiming immediately his tears were saltwater drops from his hair. The others believed him without hesitation, they were all drenched from their short fall into the shallow water.

They had survived, after all.

"One can't say that about the kittens," Farfarello recounted with an evil grin twisting his scarred lips. Still, he seemed astonishingly normal for a madman spending most of his life in a straitjacket. "I guess you got lost in their thoughts when they died. Hence your breakdown." All of Schwarz knew that Schuldig's mental shields were not exactly the strongest ones.

_Thanks for the ready-made excuse, Farfie._ "Yeah... Yes, that's exactly what happened. By the way, since when does Crawford allow anyone to drive his holy BMW, least of all you?" Mastermind was _back in da house_, so to speak, even if his voice was still a bit scratchy. The mask was whole again.

"Well, ever since I sprained my ankle and he was the only one still conscious," Crawford answered dryly from the front passenger seat, accompanied by a quiet snore. "That was Nagi, so quit gaping like a two-year-old. And stuff those dirty-minded comments of yours. This is an order, got it?"

At the sight that greeted him, Schuldig didn't have to fake his smile anymore. Nagi, obviously completely worn out, was sound asleep on Crawford's lap, the small head tucked under the older man's chin, leaning at his chest and supported by his arms. To complete the idyll, he was wrapped securely in Brad's white jacket. Brad himself seemed to have changed as well. The icy deviousness had gone from his face, the formerly meticulously combed hair roughened up and ruffled into knots and his relieved smile was no longer a cynically pulled up corner of mouth, but warm ... fatherly, a fitting word leaped out at Schuldig. Did Brad know that his hand was caressing Nagi's still-damp brown hair in an unconscious gesture of reassurance when the boy winced, caught in a nightmare?

"Happy, Oracle?" Schuldig asked, the heavy irony invisible to anyone but himself. "Your predictions have proved right once again."

"Uhm..." Crawford stammered rather uncharacteristically, raising several eyebrows. Thankfully, Farfarello's eyes stayed on the road.

Brad swallowed guiltily. "Will you kill me if I confess to you now that I had not a single clue of how it would turn out?"

_Okaaaay ..._ that kinda explained Crawford's barbed and rude attitude over the last few days. Farfarello shrugged and laughed quietly, rather amused about Brad's embarrassed face. His arm was bandaged with a ripped-off sleeve from Crawford's shirt, it suddenly occurred to Schuldig. He might have made fun of Weiß, but these cuts by Siberian's steel claws went probably bone-deep.

_Weiß... Youji... no..._ A hurting, all-encompassing emptiness spread itself in Schuldig's heart. The pain of the loss seized him fully now, and he would have probably gone down with it, but this new air of whatever has possessed Schwarz became his anchor, refusing to let go. His friends needed him now.

Friends… _Can we really call each other friends? It would be nice ... I think..._ Mildly surprised at how reassuring the presence of psychopaths and murderers could be, Schuldig fell asleep again.

While Farfarello manoeuvred their car towards the airport, the sun rose behind them. And when it set, Schwarz were following it, on their way to a new life.

* * *

Translation:

The Shinkansen: Japanese high-speed train.

"Aishiteru": in Japanese, " I love you. "

* * *

Another Note, just for the record: Yes, I am evil. And no, I do not hate Aya. I. DO. NOT. HATE. AYA! In fact, he is holding the first place among my favourite bishonen. Well, sharing it with Youji and Schuldig. I love them all three to pieces. Really!

Mwa-ha-ha! (uses the opportune moment of the lovebirds being, _aherm_, distracted and snags Aya away for a cuddle) (insert rabid fangirl squeal)

Aya: (honestly scared) Someone help me… Ha! I found a way! (tries his best to imitate Omi's puppy-eyes-look) Dear readers, if you review, she (glares at Nariel) might be distracted, and I can escape! Onegai? Please? Have mercy!


End file.
